


Technicolor Beat

by elfentruthed



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfentruthed/pseuds/elfentruthed
Summary: Oneshot. Connor and Grace have a few minutes to relax while Hank is out.





	Technicolor Beat

**Author's Note:**

> A quick oneshot with an original character I came up with. Depending on if this is well-received (or received at all), I may write more about her!

 “What do you even do all day whenever Hank is done?”

The question admittedly caught Connor by surprise. Grace was kneeling down in front of him sitting on the couch, tending to the ankle he had damaged the day before. This is why he wasn’t attending the briefing for the new case with Hank; Hank was overly concerned that somehow the rest of him would break if he didn’t get the ankle fixed right away. It was too lucky that Grace was around to help. She had been indispensable to the Detroit deviants since Cyberlife now refused to perform repairs on androids that had the audacity to demand autonomy. Her extensive experience in manufacturing years ago proved to be very useful in a time of shortage of spare parts and experienced technicians willing to help.

“I don’t know,” Connor responded, “he normally doesn’t go many places without me. Wait for him to come back I guess.”

Grace lifted her head from her focus on his leg and gave him a quizzical look. “You don’t do anything for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Like… Hobbies?”

Connor paused. “What counts as a hobby? I like to ‘screw around with that coin,’ as Hank puts it.”

Grace snorted, returning her attention to his ankle. Connor heard a quiet but definitive _click_ , then Grace rotated his foot a few times.

“There,” she said, leaning back with a small, satisfied smile. “That should do it. Might take a little walking to get everything settled into place, so movement might be _slightly_ restricted until you walk it out. So to speak.” She pushed a strand of hair that had strayed from its lose ponytail back behind her ear.

Connor tested his range of movement a moment longer as Grace pushed herself back up to her feet. “Thank you, Grace.”

“Don’t mention it. Just be careful and try not to break anything for, oh, at least a day. I have other people to take care of, you know.” She smirked, then huffed quietly and put her hands on her hips. “Mind if I make myself tea?”

“Hank won’t miss it. I don’t even know why he keeps it, he never touches the stuff,” Connor added, raising his voice slightly as Grace walked into the kitchen.

“Maybe he drinks it when you’re not around,” Grace replied.

“I’m always around.”

Grace shrugged, as if Connor would be able to see her response. “Then he keeps it around for guests who come by to fix his android son after he fucks up jumping through a window seven feet off the ground.”

From the living room, Connor could hear the hum of the electric kettle warming water, then the low hiss of hot water being poured into a mug. Grace reentered the living room a few moments later, delicately cradling the steaming mug in her hands. She lowered her face near the mug, then grimaced and withdrew as if stung by the steam.

“Why don’t you turn on the TV so we’re not just sitting here in awkward silence?” she asked.

Connor looked up at her. “You don’t have to go?”

“I don’t have any pressing issues. Markus can call me if an emergency comes up. And I could use a break.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t mind do you?”

“No, no, of course not.”

Grace was already halfway to the other side of the couch, as if she had anticipated his agreement. She sat down, careful to not let her tea spill over, and crossed one leg over the other and leaned against the arm of the couch in a comfortable posture. She contemplated the still steaming tea briefly, then seemingly decided it needed more time to cool before turning the television on.

_“-berlife claims that they have tracked the location of a lost prototype to somewhere in Detroit after an extended period of being untraceable. This android allegedly has important company in-“_

“Next channel,” Grace interjected, and the television complied.

The face of the news anchor was replaced with an advertisement that seemed to be in the middle of setting some elaborate, clever joke to draw people into buying their product. Grace did not seem to mind the lack of unique broadcasting content.

“News is too frustrating right now,” Grace said, answering the question Connor had not asked her. “I know what people think of androids every time I have to scrounge for a replacement arm, or fight to keep someone’s thirium pump regulator going long enough to replace it along with three units of blue blood. I don’t need reminded when everything at the church is going relatively well.”

Connor continued to look at her a moment longer as she continued to gaze solemnly at the bright screen, then turned his attention to the television as some announcer appeared to introduce contestants of some sort. He wasn’t familiar with the face on the screen, but a quick scan revealed the man was a host of a dance contest that was nearing the end of the season.

“Is this you introducing me to a hobby?” Connor asked, turning back to Grace. The man continued to drone on about the contestants’ stories in the background.

“Nah,” Grace shrugged, “watching TV isn’t really a hobby, per se. But it passes time. So it’s an idea for something for you to do while Hank is gone, instead of staring into space contemplating the meaning of life.”

“I don’t contemplate the meaning of life.”

Grace chuckled, now attentive to the changing image. A couple was now on the screen, the man dressed in a smart tan suit and the woman in a yellow ruffled dress that was short in the front and long in the back. The fashion was reminiscent of what may have been considered very stylish twenty years ago, and the music and scenery around them reflected that aesthetic.

The pair were well synchronized; they had been practicing for weeks. Everything flowed into what seemed to be one long, fluid movement, but if he looked closely enough Connor could watch the components of footwork and pattern across the floor that contributed to the dance as a whole. One wrong step would be noticed, but the two were impeccable in their timing. Connor didn’t know much, or anything really, about dancing, but he got the sense that these two were doing well.

Grace sighed wistfully a few feet away. “I’ve always wanted to try dancing,” she said.

Connor waited a moment, continuing to watch the couple, before answering. “Why haven’t you? That could be a fun… hobby.”

“Don’t have a partner. And it feels too strange to go to a class to learn to dance with a complete stranger.” She took a hand away from her still untouched tea, then continued to speak in a lower, exaggerated tone of her own voice, gesturing with her now free hand. “Oh hey, guy or lady I’ve never met, we’re either equally terrible at this or I’m infinitely more terrible than you. Wanna pretend to figure this out and feel so embarrassed that we’ll have someone else next week, repeat ad nauseum until one of us quits?”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that’s how it would go,” he said.

“Maybe,” Grace said, shrugging. “Guess I’m just too shy to find out.”

The conversation reached a halt. The room would have been quiet, if not for the old 00’s song playing from the television. As the well-choreographed dance came to a stop and the host introduced the next pair, Grace turned to ask Connor his thoughts. Her question was stopped as she opened her mouth, immediately noticing the blinking yellow circle at his temple.

“Oh, what are you scheming?” she asked.

Connor snapped his head toward her. “What?”

“Please,” she said, “as if I don’t know what that LED means. It only blinks yellow like that when you’re confused or thinking really hard about something. What are you scheming Connor? Did you decide to yank me out of my shell and sign me up for a dance class?”

“Not exactly.”

“Wh-?”

Her confused protest was interrupted as Connor pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to stand in front of her perch on the couch. He extended a hand towards her, and she continued to look up at him.

“Come on, we’ll be equally terrible,” he said, pushing his hand an inch closer.

Grace sputtered briefly. “Con-“

“It can be like a trial version. You can see if you want to do it again next week with a stranger. Repeat ad nauseum.” He insisted another inch further. “Come on, the next song will start any second.”

Grace exhaled a sharp, short laugh. She set the mug aside, safe and out of the way, then took Connor’s hand and let him help pull her to her feet. They stood just a few inches apart, their hands still clasped together. They both hesitated for a beat, then together settled each of their free hand on the other, his hand resting gently at her waist and hers delicately clasping his shoulder.

“You’re going to mess up that ankle I just fixed,” Grace said.

Connor shrugged. “I don’t mind if you have to stay around a little longer.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the lighting as the nearby screen transitioned into a red backdrop. Or perhaps Connor actually saw Grace’s face turn just a shade pinker.

Music began to play from the television speakers, and the pair began to move. This song was certainly much more recent than the previous, released only in the last year. A bright female voice sang over an upbeat, technicolor beat. But Connor and Grace did not hear the lyrics; they were too focused on the movement of their own feet.

Their dance was not an ugly, stumbling thing of two novices. They made full use of the cramped space amongst furniture, stepping and twisting, and within just a few measures Grace was grinning as she whirled herself through a twirl, then pulled herself back into Connor’s arms. His expression lifted when her free hand rested itself on his chest.

“You’re suspiciously good at this,” she noted, raising an eyebrow.

“I cheated,” he admitted. He raised his hand to point at his temple quickly, then rested it back on her waist. “Preconstruction and reconstruction.”

Grace rolled her eyes, but her expression was still light. “Of course you did.”

“You’re pretty good yourself, you know.”

Connor noted her brief expression of surprise at the compliment, but her face quickly settled into a relaxed smile. “Guess I’m a quick learner,” she replied, gazing to the right shyly.

The music had not yet stopped, but their movement had come to a lull. Even Grace’s breathing was controlled and even, despite the activity only a few moments before. The few inches between them had closed. Connor realized suddenly, somehow, that Grace had looked back up at him, and he had been looking back for a few seconds. Or a minute. Or an hour.

Her hand inched up his chest towards his shoulder. His hand pressed just a little more firmly on her waist.

The lighting in the room brightened as headlights outside turned into the driveway.

Grace gasped and jumped back, out of Connor’s arms and into a table. Her wince was quickly followed by a _thud_ as her mug toppled down, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, and turned towards the kitchen.

“No, I’ll-“ Connor protested. But she was already gone, and it was only a short period before she came back with a handful of towels.

The front door opened as Grace knelt down next to the table to clean up the tea. Connor remained standing the same way he had when Grace had jumped back from him as Hank walked through the door. Hank remained still for a few seconds, as he took in the scene before him. His posture relaxed, and he waved casually at Grace.

“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d still be here.”

“Sorry,” Grace replied, smiling at him quickly then turning her attention back to the spill. “Made a mess.”

 “Better?” Hank asked, twisting his neck to casually gesture towards Connor’s ankle.

Connor looked down at his ankle, then averted his eyes to look down at Grace. She was looking back up at him. Connor returned his gaze to Hank after a split second of mutual silence.

“Much.”


End file.
